


It's In The Way That You Love Me

by denorios



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-07
Updated: 2010-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:12:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denorios/pseuds/denorios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was never meant to be easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's In The Way That You Love Me

**Author's Note:**

> You can blame slavelabour for this - she got me in the sappy frame of mind, and it turned out it was just the thing to shift the writer's block. Huge thanks as always to to farad for encouraging me and picking out my tense shifts. I love you both!

It was never meant to be easy.

When Vin thought about it, on those rare occasions when he let his mind stray to the impossible contemplation of home and happiness, in those unguarded moments when it was all he could do to keep his back straight and his eyes open, and there was no bounty, there was never a bounty, never a shroud of grief enveloping Chris, and no prying eyes and judging looks; when he thought about it, he had always assumed that living with Chris would be hard.

They would fight, he was sure, with fists and hot scalding words, and one or both of them would storm out, would saddle up and ride away; and perhaps there would be talk in town, sly asides, angry digs, cold shoulders. Or maybe Vin would miss his freedom, and Chris would be unable to keep the memories at bay, memories of yielding softness and sweet smiles, a gentle embrace, loving words; and how could Vin compete with a ghost, how could he compare to Sarah?

So perhaps it would end, but Vin knew he would never regret trying. It would be hard, that was almost certain, and there were bound to be times he would come to hate Chris almost as much as he loves him, but it would still be worth it. It would always be worth it.

He would close his eyes and imagine Chris' touch, imagine the hard light in the green eyes softening. He would imagine the strength in Chris' embrace, the sure steady beat of his heart beneath Vin's ear. He would think about making Chris smile, making him laugh, seeing him at his quietest moments, his most intimate moments, knowing that it was all for Vin, only for Vin.

But easy? No, it could never be easy.

***

 

The change was small, gradual, almost imperceptible; one small step after another, too small to even be noticed or commented upon, until one day Vin turned around and he couldn't help but wonder at how far things had come, how far, how fast, and he didn't even see; and it never meant to be like this, surely.

One day it was a kiss, that first sudden kiss that left them both breathless and still, seeing each other with different eyes, and the next it was those first hesitant touches, the feel of Chris beneath Vin, the shift of his hips and the strength of his hands.

And from there it was so natural, so effortless; it was long heat-filled nights and stolen moments on the trail and in the stables, the quick brush of hands in the saloon, the hot press of thighs under the table, the lingering glances, the private smiles. It was Vin's wagon and Chris' cabin, days spent high in the mountains, hot springs, quiet meadows, the silent companionship of horse and man.

It was in the way Vin smiled and the way Chris laughed, the way Chris would reach out and Vin would always respond, Vin would ask and Chris would answer. It was give and take, and yes, sometimes push and shove, and it was never perfect, but now when Vin looks back, when he looks back and traces their path he can only remember laughter and contentment and a joy so deep and abiding it leaves him shaken and more grateful than he has words for.

Even now, when Chris' kisses are familiar and their routine is set, and he's almost accepted that perhaps it will last, perhaps he can have this, perhaps it's not too much, even now there are times when he can only stand and stare at Chris, stare for so long that Chris will start to shift and fidget under his gaze.

He will growl and glare and pull Vin close for a long, searching kiss until Vin forgets to be amazed, forgets to be astonished, forgets everything except the warmth of Chris' touch and the softness of his lips. And Chris will push Vin back on to the bed, and soon there's nothing to forget because nothing exists beyond this moment, this bed, this touch, this love.

***

It's the small things that delight Vin, the small insignificant things that Chris takes so for granted, that he doesn't even think to notice, let alone cherish - Chris with his wife and child and happy home life, Chris with his childhood of love and laughter.

It's Chris in the morning, curling into the warmth of their bed, instinctively rolling into Vin's space and burying his head in his pillow. His voice is rough, full of sleep, little more than curt grunts and growls, and it takes at least two cups of coffee before he's speaking in complete sentences. It's the way, even when he's still half-asleep, Chris' hand will slip out from the nest of blankets, the way he'll hold onto Vin's wrist and pull him back to the bed, eyes still closed, nose bumping against Vin's cheek as he fumbles his way to his lips, and the way he'll sigh and smile and kiss Vin so softly.

It's Chris in the saloon, pouring a glass for Vin even when he's not there, even when he's nowhere in sight, even when he's not expected - and when he does walk through the door Chris will say nothing, but there's an empty chair to his left and a full glass on the table, and Vin can only smile and rest his ankle gently against Chris' under the table.

It's the way Chris finds it impossible to keep his hands to himself; the way he always find an excuse to brush past Vin, his fingers catching on Vin's for only a fraction of a second, but it's enough to make Chris smile, enough to make Vin close his eyes and count his breaths. There's always a reason for Chris to rest a hand on Vin's back, an arm around his shoulder, always a reason for him to nudge Vin with his hip or lean back against his side.

It's the way Chris urges him to reach out for what he wants, to not hold back, to keep still, not keep quiet, that Chris is his, always, wherever he wants, whenever he wants. It's Chris in the livery stables, pushing Vin down into a pile of hay and holding a gentle hand over his mouth as he draws out all of the tension, all of the anger and pain and frustration that only he recognizes, leaving Vin panting and vulnerable in his arms.

But most of all it's Chris in the evening, in the dark quiet, when it's just them and the stars, and Chris will sit in his chair and read aloud to Vin. And Vin sits at Chris' feet and rests his head on his thigh, and Chris' hand will move through Vin's hair slowly, only pausing to turn the page, and the slow rhythm will lull Vin half to sleep. And he'll think about the silence and the stillness and Chris' voice and Chris' touch in his hair, Chris' heart in his hands, Chris' body beneath his, and he'll think that this is happiness, this is joy, and who know it could be so simple, and so easy?


End file.
